


The Spark That Starts It All

by TotidemVerbis



Category: Iron Fist - Fandom
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Ward Needs A Friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-16
Updated: 2020-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22276093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotidemVerbis/pseuds/TotidemVerbis
Summary: Mads O'Connor is living in the present instead of dwelling in the past, which suits her just fine. She's completely in control of herself and her life, and she's perfectly happy working as a personal assistant at Rand Enterprises. Ward Meachum thinks his assistant is strange but ultimately respects her ability to deal with him. Neither of them expect to become friends, or everything that happens afterwards.
Relationships: Others to be added, Ward Meachum/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 8





	The Spark That Starts It All

**Author's Note:**

> This is the right category. This is a story set in the Marvel Netflix Universe of _Iron Fist_ , and it is a Ward Meachum and OC story. (For anyone that likes random bits of information, this story is set in the same universe as my Frank Castle story. You do not have to read _Girl, You Taste Like Sugar_ to understand this.) It picks up after the end of Season 2, after Danny and Ward return from their adventures. Also, this story exists because I love Tom Pelphrey and poor Ward deserves some love.

**04 MARCH 2019**

**MADS**

“Your resume is a joke. Are you aware of that?”

Mads O’Connor crosses her ankles before she tucks her feet under the chair, and the slight smile on her face doesn’t change at all as dark eyes stare into her own. The Big Boss in the suit behind the large desk has a very piercing stare, the kind of look that probably sends most people into a mild panic, but no one’s stare will ever rival the fierce glare of Major O’Connor. 

_“I wonder if he tried to have a glaring contest with the Grim Reaper?”_ she thinks absently. Because the Major never went down without a fight, and her father never missed an opportunity to tell her that death was the ultimate fight.

“Anything to say in defense, O’Connor?” her possible-boss asks and effectively pulls her thoughts back on track. 

“It is a bit lacking, but you must like something in it since you keep inviting me back for follow-up interviews.” This is her _eighth_ interview for this one job, and she didn’t even know companies requested eight interviews. Even if she doesn’t get the job, she feels like she at least learned something about perseverance from this experience. 

“Is there anything about you that will affect your work here?” He looks bored, as if this interview isn’t going to impact him at all. This interview is to be his personal assistant, and this is the first time he has personally interviewed her. The previous seven times, she was interviewed by a very sweet woman who at least feigned interest.

“After illegal experimentation, I gained an ability known as telekinesis. It’s the ability where I can make things move using just my mind, but I never use it. I can’t control it actually, but I haven’t had a really big incident in years,” she says honestly. The small twist of his lips is nearly cruel, so she knows that he doesn’t believe her. It doesn’t matter that superheroes and enhanced people are practically common now; she isn’t running around in spandex, and she’s interviewing for an assistant job. Disbelief is a rational reaction. So she just widens her smile, makes her whole expression a little brighter, and he lets out a sound that might be a sigh and then leans back in his large chair. 

“That’s funny. Humor isn’t part of the job.” It’s strange. She can’t tell if he dislikes her or if he dislikes people in general. Either way, he doesn’t seem like a very pleasant person.

“Understood, sir,” she says because she was raised to be polite. To smile and be courteous, even if the other person is being an asshole.

“You keep being called in because the others who got the job before you can’t handle the work. Maybe they didn’t have the right sense of humor.” Everything about him is so _dry_. Mads absently scratches at the curve of her left knee as he looks up at the ceiling, and this time he does blow out a sigh before speaking again. “Can you do what I ask you without getting in the way?”

“Of course, sir.”

_(She’s short and quick on her feet, so she’s sure that she won’t get in his way.)_

“Do you cry easily?”

“No, sir.”

_(Only while watching Disney movies and rom-coms.)_

“Temper?”

“No, sir.”

_(Not anymore. Temper is completely under control.)_

“If I asked you to start right now?”

“I’d get to work, sir.”

_(It’s not like she has anything pressing to do.)_

He finally looks away from the ceiling and straight at her again, and he raises a brow when he realizes that she’s still smiling. She’s always smiling. It took some time, but she learned how to find peace. It will take more than one man to disturb her hard-earned peace, and she holds herself still so that he can look his fill. Did the others before her have to answer the same questions? If they did, were their answers similar to hers? She’s still thinking about the poor assistants he’s gone through when his expression evens out, and she locks her eyes on his as she waits for his decision.

“Then get to work.”

It’s a little after seven in the morning, and she thanks her lucky stars that she’d put on her favorite comfy sandals instead of impressive heels before coming in. Not that she had expected to start working first thing, but she likes being prepared. She gets to her feet, smooths her hands down the bottom of her blouse to make sure it’s still tucked into her pants, and then inclines her head towards her new boss while maintaining her smile. 

“Right away, Mr. Meachum.”

**09 SEPTEMBER 2019**

**WARD**

“I’ve got your morning schedule ready for you to review.” He looks up as his assistant abruptly stops talking, and he sees her standing halfway across the room. She has a tablet balanced in the crook of one arm, his coffee is gripped in that hand, and she’s holding a small phone in her raised hand as if she’d been waving her arm around as she spoke and then just froze. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ward, I didn’t know you had company.”

“This is Danny Rand. He has a bad habit of sneaking in, so it’s not your fault that you missed him.” Danny raises his hand to give her a small wave, and his assistant returns it with her trademark smile before continuing to his desk. 

“It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Rand.” She stops next to Ward’s chair, behind his desk because he gave up on telling her not to cross the professional barrier after she’d only been working for him a few days, and she quickly places his tablet in front of him and then hands over his coffee. “Do you want me to reschedule your first meeting? Haskin is a horrible man to start the morning with, and it’ll give you more time to prepare for Glenn.”

“Don’t reschedule. After today, I’ll never have to deal with Haskin again so let’s get him over with.” She’s already moving, leaning down to look clearly at his tablet, and he realizes that all of her long pale red hair is free around her. “Put your hair up. Haskin hates people with tattoos and I hate him, so let’s piss him off any way that we can.”

“You got it, Mr. Ward.” She places her phone on his desk as well, and he glances up to see her arms raised and bent as she pulls her hair up. In his office. “It really is wonderful to finally meet you, Mr. Rand. Mr. Ward speaks very highly of you. Did your friend like the birthday basket we sent? I baked the cookies myself.”

“Yes, she loved everything, but the cookies were her favorite. Thank you, uh-sorry, I don’t know your name.” Danny’s smile is wide, cheeks lightly flushing from embarrassment, and he looks so earnestly apologetic that Ward rolls his eyes before taking a long sip of his coffee.

“Madelaine O’Connor, but everyone calls me Mads. Except for Mr. Ward. He always calls me O’Connor,” she says easily. She always talks in a gentle and conversational tone, which he has to grudgingly admit is impressive considering the amount of bullshit that she puts up with. 

“Because your nickname is ridiculous. Do you have to do that in here?” He looks up as she looks down, and she pauses with her fingers stuck in a half-braided chunk of hair. 

“If I don’t do it now, I’ll forget before the Haskin meeting. Unless you need me to do something else?” Another grudgingly impressive thing about his assistant? She always has everything in order and perfectly organized to his specifications; he can’t recall her making a single mistake, because she really is annoyingly efficient.

“Just don’t make a habit of grooming yourself during my meetings.” His tone is cutting, but it doesn’t have any kind of impact on her happy demeanor. 

“I thought Mr. Rand was family?” He can see Danny looking back and forth between them with an amused smile, and she’s making quick work of braiding her hair above her neck so she can’t see the look. 

“He is.”

“I am.”

“Am I offending you, Mr. Rand?” She twists at the hips so she can see Danny as she asks it, and Ward reclines back in his chair so that he can look up and see the dark shape on the back of her neck. Haskin really does hate people with tattoos, as Ward has discovered after stupidly agreeing to a lunch meeting last week, but the man isn’t stupid enough to say anything to Ward’s personal assistant. 

“Not at all,” Danny assures her. “How long have you been working for Ward?”

“Six wonderful months. Mr. Ward didn’t think I’d last a week, but here I am.” Wonderful? Sometimes he can’t help but to wonder if his assistant is on some kind of mind-altering substance; no one with her job should look or sound so genuinely happy, but she has told multiple people how much she enjoys working for him.

“The eight assistants before you didn’t last a full week,” he reminds her. He came back to work right after returning from China, from Danny’s insane adventures, and he’d been ready to get back to something familiar. None of the assistants had been able to keep up with him, or endure him, until O’Connor. He’ll never admit it, but he is fond of his assistant. Even when she ignores him.

“Why do you think you’ve been able to last?” Danny looks serious as he asks the question, as if her answer is of grave importance, and O’Connor finally lowers her arms now that she’s done with her hair. The braided mass is secure above the nape of her neck, and his eyes are able to trace over the entire eagle because the back of her shirt is low enough to reveal all of it. The head and body on her nape, the outstretched wings with tips extended to just behind her ears, and the feet and tail stop on her upper back. It’s not overly large, but it is noticeable. Haskin is going to blow an artery.

“Because I know that he’s a good man, under the yelling and occasional insults. I’ve lasted because I’ve never gotten angry at him or let his angry tirades bother me,” she says proudly. He can hear it in her voice and see it in the slight lifting of her chin. 

“I don’t insult you,” he’s quick to point out. She’s never given him a reason to insult her.

“Yesterday you told me to change my blouse because it looked like someone had puked pea soup all over me.” Her hands run down the sides of the pale purple blouse she’s wearing today, fingers whispering against the thin fabric, as she smiles down at him. 

“That wasn’t me insulting you. I was helping you.” The blouse had been terrible, the color was offensive, and she’d been wearing something different the next time he saw her. Something blue?

“Thank you for your help, Mr. Ward.” Her hand lightly pats against his arm, a touch so light that he barely even feels it, and that’s another way she’s different. None of his other assistants had ever touched him so casually, or without intent, but she never hesitates. “Would you like something to drink, Mr. Rand?”

“Water, please.”

“Coming right up. Anything else for you, Mr. Ward?” He takes a quick sip of his coffee, which is exactly as he takes it, and then glances up at her. 

“Any breakfast today?”

“I made omelets this morning, it should keep your energy up. I’ll bring it in.” Despite her short height, she sweeps out of the room quickly. She’s efficient, always.

“Your assistant makes you breakfast? Isn’t that an abuse of power?” Danny asks once she’s gone.

“I’ve never asked her to. She made a note of me mentioning that I usually don’t eat in the mornings, and she offered. She’s a good cook.” She also cooks dinner, sometimes, whenever he stays at the office late. He keeps trying to send her home at a reasonable time, but she only leaves to cook a meal for them and bring it back in. If he stays, she stays.

“And she baked Jess’s cookies? Jess has been looking for those all over the city,” Danny says with a little bit of an accusation in his tone.

“I didn’t know. I told her to buy some. I’ll pass along the message, and she might bake some more.” O’Connor is, in a single summed up word, unusual. He’s seen her interact with others in the company, always with a bright smile, and he knows that she regularly does little things for her coworkers. She even spent two days last month covering her work schedule and another assistant’s, because the man was sick in the hospital. (She covered, and Ward approved the man’s usual pay.) If he tells her that someone enjoyed her cookies so much that they’ve been scouring the city for them, she’ll most likely bake some more.

“I also made some oatmeal, Mr. Rand, if you’d like something to eat as well.” She speaks as she crosses the office, and she flashes a quick look at Danny before moving things around on his desk so she can sit down the wooden tray holding his breakfast.

“I ate earlier, but thank you.” She hums in reply as she straightens the tray, and the omelet looks and smells delicious.

“Twenty minutes before Haskin, Mr. Ward. I’ll come back for the tray before the meeting.” She’s standing next to Danny’s chair and Danny’s holding a bottle of water, but Ward can’t say when she moved because he’d been too busy cutting off his first bite of the omelet. “If you need anything, I’ll be at my desk.”

“Miss O’Connor?” She stops behind Danny’s chair, and Danny turns in the chair to look up at her. Ward’s busy eating, so he keeps silent and watches. “Why do you call him Mr. Ward? Shouldn’t it be Mr. Meachum or just Ward?”

“Using only his first name doesn’t show the proper amount of professional respect, but Mr. Meachum sounds far too impersonal for the man I regularly cook breakfast for.” She looks past Danny at him, and he raises a brow in question. “Would you prefer Mr. Meachum?”

“I don’t care what you call me.” She’s always professional around other workers and during his meetings, so he really doesn’t care what she calls him when they’re the only ones in the room. Or when Danny is around. 

“Mr. Ward is a happy medium, so I think I’ll stick with it. Anything else?” Ward shakes his head, since he’s still trying to eat, and she smiles at them both before turning around and swiftly leaving the room. 

“I think she likes you.” Danny is slumping down in his chair, and Ward slows his chewing as he takes in the wide childlike grin on Danny’s face.

“I think she has a talent for putting up with me.” He knows that he’s difficult to work for and knows his faults, but O’Connor has a peaceful personality and a work ethic that matches his own. 

“I think she likes you,” Danny repeats. Ward ignores him in favor of his breakfast; he has a long day ahead of him, and he doesn’t want to waste time or energy dealing with Danny’s childish daydreams and misconceptions.

**MADS**

The conference room is perfectly prepped. The most comfortable chairs are at one end of the long oval table, for Mr. Ward and Haskin. Her own chair is at the opposite end of the table, with a tablet open so she can take notes during the meeting. A pitcher of water has been prepared and placed a little to the side of where her boss will be sitting, along with four glasses. Her eyes do another quick sweep through, and she squints at the windows. The wall of windows is letting in far too much natural light, and she makes quick work of the controls so that it isn’t so bright. With that done, she looks at the temperature panel. The entire building is kept cool, but Haskin is quick to sweat. He’ll be more comfortable if she lowers the temperature in the room a little.

“Making it colder for Haskin?” Mr. Ward asks as he walks inside. There are still a few minutes left before Haskin is set to arrive, and she knows that her boss trusts her by now but he’s still a bit of a control freak. So she doesn’t take offense as he stands in the doorway next to her and quickly scans the room.

“Yes, sir,” she says after it’s apparent he’s satisfied.

“Don’t. Let him sweat a little.” She ducks her head down, towards her shoulder, to hide her answering smile. Smiling about another person being uncomfortable isn’t exactly professional, but Haskin really is a horrible person to deal with first thing in the morning.

“Is there anything else you need for the meeting, Mr. Ward?” His eyes quickly scan over her now, it’s part of his usual everything-must-be-perfect routine, and he gives a little nod once he’s done.

“Go escort Haskin in. I’ll grab what I need and meet you back here.” They leave the room together, walking side-by-side, and she notices Mr. Ward looking curiously down at her neck. “Eagle the only tattoo?”

“Only one. Should I duck out real quick and get one on my forehead?” There’s a tiny spark of amusement in his expression, the slight softening of his eyes and an uptick of the corner of his mouth, but then he’s facing forwards again so that she can’t see him. 

“Make sure you walk in front of him,” he says as he quickly adjusts his cuffs. 

“You really don’t like him, do you?” She pauses in front of the doorway to his office, and he turns to look at her before walking inside.

“He called me boy. He’s on the permanent shit list.” He disappears into his office, and she turns on her toes to start walking again. 

_“That must be the longest list in the history of lists,”_ she thinks as she gets closer to the elevator. She stops to stand a little to the side in front of the large double doors, mostly to avoid being walked into but also so that she doesn’t have to stare at her reflection in the overly shiny elevator doors.

“Morning, Mads. How’s Mr. Meachum this morning?” Angela asks as she steps forward to press the button on the elevator. Angela is another assistant, a few floors below this one, but they have regularly crossed paths in the six months that Mads has been working at Rand Enterprises.

“He’s in a very good mood today,” she says and glances at the other woman from the corner of her eye. The tall blonde is already shaking her head in disbelief, but she’s smiling.

“I don’t know how you do it. You know Kristy? First floor?” When she nods in the affirmative, Angela continues. “She worked for him for two days before he had her in tears.”

“The important thing to remember is that he’s all bark.” That isn’t exactly true. He has plenty of bite, but she knows to stay out of his way when he’s in a mood. It’s a balancing act, and she’s very good at it. 

“You’re a brave woman. Lunch later?” Mads nods before Angela steps onto the elevator, and she dims her smile into something a little more politely professional as she continues waiting. 

Her boss is complicated. Cruel and cutting words, sarcasm falling from his lips, laughter that only sounds to insult…the descriptor _asshole_ really does fit him. She can tell that he’s a good person, under the insults. She’s been around enough people to be able to tell when sharp words are meant to protect themselves rather than truly hurt others; she only knows what she’s read in the news and heard around the company, but she knows enough. He’s alone. No parents, estranged from his sister, and the only friend she has ever heard him mention is Danny. He doesn’t have to be alone, it’s a choice that he’s made, and he must have a good reason for choosing to distance himself from everyone. 

At the end of the day, she respects her boss. He’s pushing to make the business better, to do everything better, and he isn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty. Some of her favorite moments of the day are just watching him think or listening to him think out loud, because she finds the way his mind works fascinating. He thinks so quickly, barely finishing a thought before moving several steps ahead, and he’s downright deadly in an argument. She knows it isn’t fair to her for him to snap at her whenever he’s stressed, but he never attacks her with words. He never says anything about her personally; he keeps his sentences short and barks out orders, but she doesn’t feel offended whenever he gets in a mood like that. He usually even apologizes, which is nice of him since he never says anything that needs to be apologized for. He isn’t a perfect person, and she wouldn’t even call him a nice person. He isn’t a bad guy though. He isn’t evil.

The elevator doors quietly open and pull her from her thoughts, and she straightens her spine and shoulders as she brightens her smile a fraction. The look is wasted, because Haskin has his head turned towards the man on his left as he laughs. She holds the expression anyway as they step off the elevator together, and both of them stop to look at her. The shorter man smiles politely in recognition, but Haskin’s expression has a bit of a leer to it as he slowly looks her over. This is the ninth time that he’s seen her in the past six weeks, but she’s sure that he doesn’t remember her name or possibly even recognize her face.

“Welcome, Mr. Haskin. There is already a room set up for you, if you would please follow me.” The whole time she’s talking, he’s looking down the slight vee of her blouse. It makes her wish that she’d pulled on a turtleneck that morning instead. 

“Meachum isn’t held up somewhere, is he?” Haskin asks her. Well, Haskin asks her chest.

“Of course not, sir. Your meeting is Mr. Meachum’s top priority,” she easily lies before turning around. She keeps her head held high, and she feels a little shiver go down her spine as she leads the two men towards the conference room. She knows the tattoo on her neck is easily visible with the way her hair is put up, and Haskin’s stare feels like little needles digging into her skin. 

The eagle on the back of her neck is the only tattoo she has, she never went through a stage where she felt a need to get a tattoo, and she knows it’s a little larger than what’s appropriate to showcase in the workplace. Mr. Ward has never seemed to care though. He just cares about efficiency, and apparently about the color of her blouses. She can hear a quiet grunt of disapproval behind her, but she ignores it. The only opinion that matters is Mr. Ward’s, since he’s her only boss, and he actually wants her to wear her hair up. She’s not going to let Haskin’s disapproval get to her.

“Top priority, hmm?” The conference room is empty, which means Mr. Ward is probably still in his office, and she turns around to assure Haskin that he’ll be with them shortly. She never gets the chance to say anything, because Haskin has moved into her personal space and is glaring down at her. _Down at her_ , both literally and metaphorically. “Does a tattooed gutter slut like you even know what the word priority means?”

“Haskin!” Mr. Ward is smiling without warmth as he walks into the room, and she looks down to hide the lingering anger she feels. She can feel heat in her cheeks and spreading down her neck, and the rings on her fingers are practically vibrating as she struggles to maintain control. She can’t afford to lose control, to get angry. Besides, punching someone at work isn’t very professional. 

Mads walks away from the fake smiles and to the far end of the table to take her seat, and she takes a steadying breath as the meeting officially beings.

**WARD**

“O’Connor, take this to my office.” He slides his files on top of her tablet, sees her confused expression since he never hands over his notes until after he’s had time to review them, and then inclines his head towards the open doorway.

“Of course, sir.” He looks away after she steps through the doorway, but Haskin is still watching her walk down the hallway. More accurately, he’s still watching the way that her tight slacks mold against the curve of her ass as she walks at a leisurely pace. Haskin’s assistant has already left, to go get the car, so it’s just the two of them in the conference room. 

“One thing before you go.” He grabs a fistful of Haskin’s shirt and pushes him against the wall with an arm braced across his chest, and watery eyes widen as his jaw goes a little slack. “Don’t you ever disrespect my assistant again.”

“I know she’s pretty and probably a great lay-” Ward starts to see black around the edges of his vision, and Haskin makes a quiet gurgling sound as Ward’s hand tightens and causes the man’s tie to tighten around his throat. “-but are you really going to assault me for your whore secretary’s honor?”

He knows it’s not a good idea, can think of ten reasons for why it’s a bad idea even as he draws his arm back, but that doesn’t stop him from hitting the stupid look off Haskin’s face. His fist hits against the soft line of Haskin’s jaw, not hard enough to break skin or bone, but it’ll be enough to leave a mark that he won’t forget anytime soon, and Haskin lets out a loud delayed cry as the pain registers. He tries to roll his shoulders forwards, but Ward’s still got a good grip on him and he uses it to slam Haskin against the wall one more time. 

“Get out of my building, right now, or I’ll escort you out.” He makes a point of glancing over his shoulder at the wall of windows before smiling at Haskin, a grin full of teeth, and he pointedly straightens Haskin’s tie before taking a step back. Haskin hurries from the room without giving Ward a second glance or saying anything, which is the smartest thing he’s ever done. 

Ward takes a moment to take a few slow deep breaths, reaches up to smooth his hair down, and then he steps out of the conference room. Haskin is nowhere in sight, which is for the best. Ward spent the entire meeting listening to the incompetent fuck insulting his assistant on a loop in his head, and he can still feel angry tension coiling in his stomach as he starts down the hallway. He has a vague awareness of people moving out of his way as he walks towards his office, which means that some of the anger he’s been feeling for the past hour must be showing on his face. There’s even a moment where he’s sure that someone ducks into a room just to avoid being in his line of sight, so he’s not surprised when he reaches his office without anyone trying to stop him. O’Connor is already inside, standing behind his desk as always, and she’s arranging his notes so that they’ll be easier to review.

“Mr. Ward, I went ahead and added copies of my notes-Mr. Ward? Everything okay?” 

Instead of moving around her, like he usually does, he’s standing next to her. She’s turned to face him, head tipping back because she’s never been afraid to meet his eyes, and her brows are slightly furrowed in confusion. He lifts his hand but stops before he can touch her, but she doesn’t look upset or uncomfortable so he allows himself to reach out and brush his thumb along her jaw.

“He shouldn’t have said that to you, and he never will again,” he tells her. When she smiles, he feels her skin shift and slide against where he’s still lightly touching her face. His hand is braced under the curve of her jaw, thumb moving next to where her smile is dimpling her cheek, and she tilts her head to the side enough to lean into the touch.

“Thank you, Mr. Ward, but you didn’t have to say anything to him.” She looks so sincere, and he decides not to tell her that he actually punched and then threatened the disgusting bastard. The hand that’s touching her is throbbing with dull pain, but it’ll fade soon. 

“You are my assistant, and no one talks to my assistant that way.” The skin he’s touching is growing warmer as her face flushes, and the look in her eyes is a little brighter.

“Did you go all Swayze on him?” she asks. Confusion floods him, blanks his mind for a moment, and her smile holds steady as she explains. “You know, like in Dirty Dancing? No one puts baby in the corner?”

“Are you speaking gibberish?” He knows what she’s talking about and can make enough connections to figure out why she’s talking about it, but he enjoys the way her nose wrinkles up as amusement seems to pour out of her.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I just always wanted someone to say, _no one messes with my girl_ ,” she says and even drops her voice a little. “I’m no one’s property, no man is ever going to own me, but I think the sentiment is nice.”

“In that case, no one messes with my girl.” Her smile fades but the look in her eyes is transformative, so happy that it almost hurts to look at, and then she ducks her head.

“You’re the best, boss.” Her tone is too gentle, too soft, and he drops his hand as if her skin is burning him.

“Coffee and then we’ll review the notes,” he says and steps around her. 

“You got it, sir.”

**MADS**

After several more meetings and following her usual routine, work ends. All of the offices on her floor are dark, except for the lamp on her desk and a slant of light farther down the hall. Her desk is neat and cleaned off, everything important put away until the next morning, and she drops a pen into one of three holders before straightening up. She forgot to grab a jacket that morning, as usual, so the only thing she needs to grab is her bag. She adjusts the strap and gets it situated on her shoulder as she walks down the hallway, and she takes a quick breath before opening the door to Mr. Ward’s office. She quickly looks around as she walks inside, and to her surprise he’s already cleaning off his desk.

“Early night, Mr. Ward?” she asks as she stops in front of his desk.

“It’s after seven,” he says absently as he drops files into a drawer.

“Eight, actually, but that’s still early for you.” He pauses what he’s doing to cut his eyes at her, and she softens the teasing in her smile some. “I’m not saying that you’re a workaholic or anything, but I am heavily implying it. Leaving early is something you should indulge in more often.”

“I’m leaving now, and I’ll be back at five.” Of course he will be. Mads adjusts the strap of her bag again, a little tick she’s had ever since middle school, and then she reaches into the outer pocket for her phone so she can set her alarm for an earlier time. 

“Would you like anything specific for breakfast? If you’re going to be up working that early, you’ll need breakfast,” she tells him. He’s a smart man, no doubt about it, but he isn’t really the best at taking care of himself sometimes. She’s not even sure if he’d remember to stop working to eat certain meals if she didn’t put the food down in front of him.

“Can you make those chocolate peanut butter pancakes again?” The brief look he gives her is so hopeful that she has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop herself from laughing, and she nods absently to herself and tries not to look at the way her boss’s jacket tightens across his shoulders as he packs his bag.

“You’ll have them first thing in the morning, sir. I’ll make you a berry blast shake to balance them out,” she decides. He actually stops and twists around to shoot an angry look at her, but she’s learned to tell when he’s actually angry versus when he’s only playing at being angry. “Don’t give me that look. You can’t live off of coffee alone, and the shake is good for you. You liked the last one.”

“It wasn’t horrible,” he concedes. 

“Thanks for that. See you at five. Goodnight, sir.”

Mads quickly leaves the office before he can try to protest, he normally protests whenever she comes in too early or stays too late, but she tends to ignore those protests. If he stays until after midnight, so does she. If he starts his workday at five in the morning, so does she. It isn’t like she has anything else that needs her attention, and she likes helping her boss. On the plus side, he’s usually still too sleepy when he comes into the office early which means that his asshole-ish-ness hasn’t kicked into full gear yet. (Early in the morning, when he’s still waking up and the coffee hasn’t fully entered his bloodstream yet, his eyes look soft and sometimes he laughs quietly at her dumb morning jokes.) Coming in early isn’t exactly fun, but it has its advantages.

It’s later at night than when most office workers leave, but she chooses to walk anyway. Since she’s going into work early in the morning, she won’t have time for her morning run. Because she isn’t getting up before four. She’s just not. So she’s going to get her exercise in by walking to her apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, and she ducks into an open store as a quick detour. Berries, chocolate, peanut butter…She’s missing a lot of things, so she’ll need to go grocery shopping soon. Maybe this weekend she’ll get to go, if her boss doesn’t work all weekend. Then again, if he does work through the entire weekend again, she’ll just go grocery shopping on her lunch break. 

With that little task done, she continues on her way home. New York is her home now, Hell’s Kitchen is her home and she thinks Rand Enterprises might become home, but it’s not her first home. It’s not Meadowes, not some small Texan town, but it still has that same _home_ feeling. She knows how to easily weave between hurrying bodies, the same way she knew how to weave under branches in the woods behind her childhood home. Knows the best places to eat, who to smile at and whose eyes to avoid, and places to disappear to when she needs a moment to just _breathe_. One of the best things, that’s the same but somehow completely different, is that both of her homes have never felt lonely. In Texas, all she had to do was stand outside and listen to the life that surrounded her whenever she took the time to hear and feel everything inside her that makes a person alive. In New York, there’s always people moving and sounds that echo around streets and this kind of energy that she can feel against her skin.

She’s been told, more than once, that she’s too happy. A coworker at her last job told her that it was impossible for her to be so happy all the time, that she had to be faking most of it. It didn’t make her angry, for someone to doubt her. It just made her incredibly sad. She wanted to tell the woman that she hadn’t always been this way. There was a time when she walked around with permanent fists and the need to hurt, others or herself didn’t always matter, and that she’d been so full of anger that she’d ached with the need to destroy something. There was a time when the only way she could smile was if she was spitting out blood. She only laughed when blood was on her hands and someone else was crying. She’d kept that to herself, in the end, because being happy doesn’t mean that she has to give pieces of herself away.

Mr. Ward never comments on her happiness. He doesn’t make snide comments about her ever-present smile, he’s never once told her to stop looking so damn cheerful all the time, and it’s something so small and so unimportant in the grand scheme of things. It’s important to her though, it’s not a small throwaway thing, because as dumb as it may sound being happy is something that she has had to work for. Whoever thinks that peace is easy has never tried it. The point, she thinks as she starts getting closer to her apartment, is that while her boss is an asshole he’s always upfront with her. Others that she’s worked with and for have been so sweet when talking to her, she calls it the smile effect, but as soon as they think she’s out of hearing range they talk about how annoying and fake she is. It’s a good thing she discovered how to be peaceful and isn’t that angry girl from Meadowes anymore. She thinks that girl would have gotten along with Mr. Meachum. The girl she used to be would have respected him, for his honesty, and probably for his asshole personality. The person she is now respects Mr. Ward, and she’s glad that she met him at this point in her life and not before. He’s only her boss, but she feels…she feels at ease around him. 

She’s still imagining that angry girl yelling back at Mr. Ward whenever he’s in a mood and struggling not to laugh at the image as she walks into her apartment, and she pauses just inside the doorway to take a deep breath. Pizza. Cheesy, greasy, beautiful pizza. That means that Darcy has let herself in, and that she’s been kind enough to bring pizza up with her. Which means that Mads doesn’t have to cook dinner tonight. She drops her work bag and groceries onto the table next to the door, toes off her sandals, and quickly walks into her living room to collapse onto the couch next to where her best friend is laser-focused on a documentary playing on the television. She ignores the crazed animal sounds and goes right for the open pizza box on the coffee table, and her eyes roll back as she takes a huge bite out of a slice. 

“How was work?” Mads asks after a commercial comes on. Darcy flops back against the cushions so that they’re sitting shoulder-to-shoulder, and Mads stuffs half a length of crust into her mouth and starts chewing. 

“Same as always. People came in, people tried to negotiate prices, and I put those people in their places. Who tries to talk down the price at a thrift store? Everything’s already cheap as hell, and there are actual signs all around the store to remind customers about our donations to charity. Some people are just shit,” Darcy huffs and crosses her arms over her stomach. “What about you? Another fun day with Meachum?”

“He’s really not that bad,” Mads mumbles around the food in her mouth. 

“He’s the worst, and I don’t know why you’re still working for him.” Mads is still chewing, so she just gives Darcy look. Which is apparently a bad idea, because Darcy somehow pops up onto her knees and looks down at her with wide blue eyes. “It’s because he’s really hot, right? I’ve seen him in magazines and on the news, and he’s definitely pretty. Are you sleeping with the big boss?”

“No!” she yells after nearly choking. 

“Yeah, you’re too proper for that. You gotta admit though, he’s nice to look at.” Darcy sinks down a little lower, so that they’re nearly on eye-level, and pokes out her bottom lip in a pronounced pout. “C’mon, Madsy, give your girl just one juicy detail.”

“Really not appropriate.” Pouting lips, eyelashes fluttering, and then a quiet pleading whine. Is there a single person that has ever existed or will exist that can deny a full-out pouting Darcy? Maybe, but Mads isn’t among them. “Can you, why am I even saying this? Can you see his arms whenever they manage to get a picture of him?”

“Looks like the arms of a dude in a suit,” Darcy shrugs. 

“Nuh-uh, Darce, you’re missing out. He’s got _arms_ ,” she emphasizes. Darcy’s mouth forms a small O, and Mads can see her mind already churning.

“The kind of arms that just look firm, or the kind of arms that can pick you up and throw you around a little?” She can feel her face and neck warming, because she really does avoid thinking about her boss inappropriately. It feels disrespectful. This is just a little bit of girl talk though, and she can be honest with herself and Darcy.

“So much more. Combined with the legs and the shoulders, you get the vibe that he doesn’t even need the wall to hold you up.” The warmth in her face is pure heat now, but she’s still smiling as Darcy’s expression shifts into surprise. 

“Forget big boss. He’s been upgraded to Boss Daddy.” Mads’s laugh is shocked out of her and she reaches up to push at Darcy’s shoulder, and her friend topples backwards while giggling.

“Not that it matters, because he’s my boss and he really is a good guy,” she says as Darcy holds her head up. She isn’t going to be able to look Mr. Ward in the eye tomorrow, she can already tell. 

“Give me one example of this hidden goodness.” She can give a dozen examples, but they all probably only fit her definition of goodness. 

“He stood up for me,” she says proudly. Darcy raises an eyebrow in question, and Mads isn’t even surprised that she wants more details. “So he had a meeting with this really awful guy, the same guy he’s been meeting with for weeks and today was the last meeting, and the guy really gives me the creeps. Mr. Ward doesn’t like him and the guy doesn’t like tattoos, so Mr. Ward asked me to wear my hair up today. Which I did, and it really pissed the guy off. He called me an offensive name before the meeting, I didn’t even think Mr. Ward heard him, but he stayed back after the meeting and then told me the guy would never say anything like that to me again.”

“So…your boss was a decent human being for five minutes today?” Darcy laughs while Mads rolls her eyes, but she isn’t even a little bit upset. Her boss has a well-earned reputation of being not so nice, but he has his moments. She’s also not going to tell Darcy about the look her boss gave her as he told her that Haskin would never speak to her that way again, because his look had been all anger and protectiveness. Then afterwards, after she rambled out the Swayze nonsense, he’d looked soft and teasing and all the things he’s usually too careful about letting others see.

“He really is a good man. You just have to squint to see it,” she says as she stands up. She needs to get the breakfast ingredients in order so she doesn’t have to search for them in the morning, and Darcy twists around so that she can watch Mads move around. 

“You’re cooking breakfast for him in the morning again, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” A loud sigh, with quiet tsking following behind it, shows Darcy’s opinion of that habit. “There’s this really big meeting next Monday, it’s a huge deal, and I think he’s stressing about it. So don’t be surprised if I come in late or leave early for the next week. Knowing him, he’ll probably live at the office until the meeting is over.”

“Late nights, early mornings…Be honest, Mads. Are you staying at the office so you and Boss Daddy can play pick-up?” Darcy laughs as Mads throws an apple at her, it’d been the closest thing within reach, and she takes a bite as Mads continues to glare at her. “It’s okay, I’m not judging.”

“Please don’t talk about Mr. Ward like that.” Does she occasionally notice how attractive her boss is? Yes. Is she attracted to her boss? Probably not.

“Aww, that’s cute. Mads has a crush. Don’t forget to slip a love note into his lunchbox.” Mads lets her friend carry on as she rearranges the contents of her cabinets and refrigerator, because she loves Darcy’s laugh. Even if it is at her expense.

**Author's Note:**

> That’s the end of the first chapter! This story is a bit of a slow-burn, because there will be a slow building friendship before there’s any romance. Also, yes, that is Darcy Lewis from the Marvel Cinematic Universe. In the MCU Timeline, this story takes place after Age of Ultron so it’s after all the craziness from Thor 2 where Darcy was last seen. If there’s any questions about anything, I’d be more than happy to answer them!
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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